


how much the heart can hold

by only_more_love



Series: 2019 Tony Stark Bingo, Round 2 [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Study, Dirty Talk, Docking, Don’t copy to another site, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Frottage, Loving Marriage, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Objectification, Sexual Fantasy, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love
Summary: Written for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 - Free Square."Tony’s mind wandered to strange places, it just did, and he thought, sometimes, that if he was blind, if the world suddenly clicked into permanent darkness, he’d still recognize Steve by the feel of his big hands on his body, still see by the light in them."Tony loves Steve; Steve loves Tony; Tony helps Steve fantasize about Bucky.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** While this is a Steve/Tony fic, I promise, Stucky and Stuckony are also in it—but only within the context of sexual fantasy. If those ships make you see red, please hop out of this fic now, before you read something you’d rather not read. But trust me: this is a Steve/Tony fic. 
> 
> The title comes from this Zelda Fitzgerald quote: “Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold."

As Tony’s eyes slowly blinked open to inky darkness, it wasn’t immediately obvious what woke him. He felt like he was swimming through a sea of blackstrap molasses, viscous, dark, sticky sweet, consciousness gradually tugging him up and out with an insistent grip. His hand reached out from where it was tucked under his cheek and slid across the soft, cozy flannel sheets that helped keep his and Steve’s bed a comfortable, warm refuge during the NY winters. During their vague patting journey, his fingers stumbled into bare skin. “Steve?” The dryness in his mouth drove him to lick his lips and swallow.

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice: a worn, familiar thread Tony caught hold of in the navy dark and crushed velvet hush that enveloped him from all sides. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know,” Tony said, wincing as his jaw cracked through a wide yawn, “it’s okay.” He’d inched past fifty a couple years ago―exactly how many years ago his mind skittered away from focusing on―and partly out of necessity and partly because of Steve’s positive influence he’d gotten slightly better at treating his body like a body, which meant the seventy-two-hour engineering binges had tapered off enough that even Pepper had said she was proud of him. But on occasion, he got caught up in his work or just had to finish something, and there still weren’t enough hours in a day, so there went sleep for a little while, sidelined till it was more convenient.

He’d been up for thirty-some hours this last time, which wasn’t that terrible, all things considered, before he’d finally dragged himself to their bathroom, sprinkling worn and rumpled clothes on the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs, and then divested himself of his own filth with water so hot it turned his skin a pretty shade of pink. Slumped back against the cool tile, he’d blinked dozily in the steam, letting the plink and thrum of the falling water lull him, staying in the shower until his fingers wrinkled and pruned up.

Sleeping in the shower seemed like a most delightful idea, but he didn’t think Steve would appreciate that very much, so he’d toweled off most of the water clinging to his skin and dressed his carcass in one of Steve’s oldest, softest long-sleeved shirts—one Tony had given him that said, “Captain America does it better!”— _husband’s prerogative, heh_ —and his own flannel sleep pants, foregoing underwear because  _fuck underwear_ , before collapsing into bed and blessed, blissful unconsciousness. Before Steve, no less, which didn’t happen all that often.

(Whenever possible, Steve remained an early to bed, early to rise kind of man; it remained utterly sickening. It also remained one of the dependable clocks by which Tony ran his life.  _Shhh_.)

Under his questing fingers, Tony discovered the bony jut of Steve’s bare hip, which was a little weird because Steve didn’t sleep naked in the winter, and then, as his hand inched forward an eency bit further, oh.  _Oh, hello there._

“Mm.” He rubbed the heel of his free hand against his eyes and cleared his throat. “Want some help with that?” Tony asked, petting over smooth skin and through wiry hair until he encountered thick, warm, hard cock.

“Just go back to bed,” Steve replied, and Tony was awake and alert enough then that he caught the faint, keen edge of irritation riding Steve’s words. “I know you need to catch up on sleep.” The last bit came out softer, less frustrated, but only by a slim margin.

“That’s not what I asked you, sunshine,” said Tony, chiding him lightly, his own voice sleep roughened and slightly raspy. He knew better now than to be offended by Steve’s apparent prickliness; he’d learned to cut him some slack, just as Steve had learned to cut him slack on so many things. Between the two of them, both such stubborn asses, learning hadn’t always been easy. But even glass had the good sense to lose its bloodthirsty edges when tumbled and battered by sea salt and sand.

(Could Tony think of anyone else he’d rather have spent those years learning and growing with? No.)

Next to him, Steve breathed a long, low sigh and rolled onto his side, bringing them close enough that Tony felt the toasty warmth he perpetually radiated.

“That bad, huh?” Tony scratched idly at his stomach.

“No. It’s just…” Steve intertwined their fingers and squeezed, gently. “I’m tired and cranky. Working out didn’t help; I already tried that. I just want to go to sleep and I can’t, and I thought if…”

Tony’s thumb inscribed concentric circles against Steve’s palm; he continued drawing until he felt just a bit of the tension strung tripwire tight in Steve’s hand seep away. He finished Steve’s trailed off sentence: “You thought an orgasm might switch off your brain enough to let you fall asleep.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“And how’s that working for you so far?”  
  
“Hm.” A noncommittal grunt, that, if Tony had ever heard one.

He flipped it neatly back to Steve in the form of a question: “Hm?”

“Not so great,” Steve finally said, a touch wry but mostly just tired and strained, and at his quiet admission, Tony felt a pang of sympathy flutter in his chest.

“Wanna fuck?” Tony asked, and even though he was tired, he was also willing. They were a team, after all, and they looked out for each other.  
  
“No. Not really.” Steve squeezed his hand, and Tony recognized it for what it was―a kind of apology. One he neither wanted nor needed. One that goaded Tony into an exaggerated eye roll, even though he knew Steve couldn’t see it. “I just want to come and then pass out.” His dejected huff of breath made Tony wince in sympathy. “Sorry.”

_Steve and his goddamn impeccable manners_. “Stop saying you’re sorry,” Tony replied, and yeah, okay, he was a little relieved that Steve didn’t want to have sex right then, but only because he was pretty fucking tired, that was all. Yawning again, still slightly sleep addled, he fumbled for Steve’s face until his mouth caught his cheek in a kiss. “I get it.” With both hands against Steve’s chest, he pushed. “Lie back. In the interest of maximum efficiency, here’s what we’re gonna do: you’re going to get your hands on that pretty cock of yours and jerk off, quick and dirty, and I’m going to help you out by running my mouth, which, as you know, is one of the things I do best.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve said, and ah, yes, it was back—the undertone of patience Tony could usually rely on because Steve was just fundamentally a good person who tried not to take his shit out on other people, “I can take care of this on my own.”

_Stubborn, beautiful ass._ “I know you can. You’re a big boy. A very big boy. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

“Please go back to sleep.” Another sigh.

“I got this.” Tony swirled easy circles into Steve’s thigh, enjoying the feel of the not quite silky but not quite coarse, either, hair, and thick muscle under his hand. “Come on. We both know I can practically talk in my sleep, anyway.”

“You? Never,” Steve replied, wrapping his words in the twinkling hint of a smile—the first one from him tonight. Hearing it made Tony feel lighter—no matter what else was happening in the world. It acted as a tangible reminder that he wasn’t alone.

“Tsk tsk.” Tony pinched Steve’s thigh in retaliation. “So.” Pinch. “Very.” Pinch. “Sassy.” Pinch. He couldn’t help grinning.

“Takes one to know one.” Steve batted his hand away. “You love my sass,” he added, chuckling. The sound trickled over the borders of Tony’s body and settled under his skin, beneath his rib cage, and spread gentle tendrils of heat from there. He felt...warm, secure, loved. There’d been times, before Steve, when he’d despaired of ever feeling that way. Even on Tony’s worst days, Steve was still the best and safest place he knew. (He wasn’t quite sure he succeeded, but Tony tried to be the same for Steve. The effort, he figured, had to count for something.)

Some things changed while others endured. Simply. Without glitter; without ostentation; without recognition.

“Wrong, sweetness. I love your  _ass_.”

“Oh, right,” Steve said without missing a beat, “how could I forget?”

“That’s easy―old age.”

“Huh. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, cupcake. You waltzed right into that one. Now, Captain,”―Tony’s eyes had adjusted enough that he could just make out Steve’s face if he squinted, so he brushed his knuckles over the lush give of Steve’s lips―“you have your mission orders: listen to me, and touch yourself.”

“I love it when you get bossy. It looks good on you.”

“I know, honeybun. I definitely don’t need you to tell me that. You like a firm hand,” Tony said, swatting Steve high up on the outer part of his thigh, near his hip, with a cupped hand.

Steve laughed in response, the warp and weft of it richly textured and familiar, his body quaking; in spite of the fact that Tony couldn’t quite see his expression or the fond light glimmering in his eyes that he  _knew_ must be there because it was so often there when he looked at Tony, and despite Tony’s fatigue, Steve’s laughter washed over his skin like sweet, sweet touch and wrapped him in more comfort than the fluffiest down blanket they owned.

Tony was good at this, he knew he was, at making Steve laugh. At bringing him ease when easy in his skin was the last thing he felt. Certainly, it wasn’t the sole purpose of Tony’s life, but it was one of them; he wasn’t ashamed to admit that.  
  
“Now, get to touching. Chop chop, big guy. We both need our beauty sleep. Me more than you, but whatevs.”

“Mmm, no. If that was a not very subtle dig at yourself, sweetheart, I don’t accept it. You’re still gorgeous. And a genius. Amazing.”

To be loved so completely by anyone, but especially by a person like Steve Rogers, was priceless. They’d been together long enough that Tony took it for granted sometimes―the same way he took sunlight, rainfall, eyesight for granted. But never for long. “I think you’re pretty tolerable, too.”

Steve snorted in what must be amusement.

With a smile still steady on his face, Tony rolled onto his stomach and scooted over until he bumped into Steve. He allowed his eyes to fall shut again as he pressed his lips to the slight, delicate hollow below Steve’s ear. That there existed anything fragile in a man as large and strong as Steve was a fascinating contradiction. “Touch, baby,” Tony murmured into Steve’s skin. Then he waited, parted lips simply resting there, and let his breath flash warm and damp over Steve’s skin until he felt movement. As a reward, he flicked his tongue against Steve’s earlobe once, twice, three times.

Because Tony’s eyes were closed, his other senses seemed sharper. The spicy afterimage of Steve’s deodorant filled his awareness, and he heard the minute shifts of Steve’s body on the sheets as he stroked himself. When he caught the tiny hitch in the rhythm of Steve’s breath, Tony pulled his earlobe into his mouth and sucked―just the way Steve liked.

A muted  _Ah_ dripped from Steve’s mouth. “Please, sweetheart, talk to me,” Steve said—no, practically begged—and, well, Tony wasn’t made of iron; wasn’t strong enough to resist such a delicious plea. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I just like the sound of your voice.”

The next thing out of Tony’s mouth, he said on a hunch, his fingers playing a series of numbers over the soft ridges of Steve’s abs. “You ever think about kissing Barnes?”

A knife-drawn inhale cut through the room, and under Tony’s arm, Steve froze. Tony could practically hear the record scratch. “What?” Steve asked. “I— Bucky?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” Tony replied, and though Steve remained as still as a spooked animal beneath him, Tony didn’t pull away, just firmly rubbed his fingertips against the base of Steve’s nipples before reaching up and giving them a pinch. He relished how Steve arched, pushing into the caresses. “Who else would I be talking about?”

“I don’t...I...No?” He didn’t sound all that confident.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “No? Never? Like no, you never actually kissed him way back when, or…” Tony curled himself into a half-sprawl over Steve, pressing them chest to chest, pushing Steve back into his pillow. As he slowly glided his hands over the back of Steve’s neck, to his warm cheek and jaw, fine grains of stubble caught at Tony’s fingers with small, painless pricks, connecting them both to each other, and Steve sighed into the contact, his body finally going loose where he was held under Tony. A sigh tumbled from Tony’s mouth, an echo of Steve’s, and he concentrated on the sensation of Steve’s large, warm hand spread wide, starfished against his lower back. Steve held him the way he always did—the way Tony needed—close, and with a gentle but firm pressure that somehow said, without words,  _I’m here; I’m yours; you’re mine._

Tony’s mind wandered to strange places, it just did, and he thought, sometimes, that if he was blind, if the world suddenly clicked into permanent darkness, he’d still recognize Steve by the feel of his big hands on his body, still see by the light in them. Now, Tony channeled every drop of tenderness, every soft, uncomplicated layer of affection he carried inside him for Steve no matter where they went, no matter what they did, like the rings that grew in a tree with each passing year, and he tried to pour its entirety into a light, dry press of his lips to Steve’s closed mouth—what he imagined a first kiss between two young fools might have been like.

It was an imperfect transmission because they weren’t mind readers. Truthful words, sincere actions, thoughtful touch were the tools they had to work with instead. Nonetheless, Tony tried. Cupping Steve’s face with careful hands, Tony swept his thumbs over his cheeks and delicately touched his mouth to the Cupid’s bow of Steve’s upper lip. He felt Steve shudder. The moment unraveled, a bolt of silk slipping and puddling in on itself, as they stayed joined at the mouth, breathing against each other. Tony sketched a wet line against Steve’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, and Steve’s fingers tightened their arc into Tony’s back. Give and take. Action and reaction. But when Steve’s mouth opened on a groan and he surged up, trying to deepen the kiss, Tony pulled back. “No,” he said, shaking his head, wetting his lips, “you’re telling me you’ve never even  _thought_ about kissing him?” He didn’t try to keep the skepticism from his voice. What would be the point?

Steve didn’t say anything, but his fingers rubbed down along Tony’s jaw, unfurling gentle pleasure and contentment through him. Outside, winter had her wicked way, hurling snow hither and thither and whipping icy winds into a frenzy. Inside, Tony shut his eyes for a handful of seconds and gave silent thanks for central heating and cozy blankets. Not to mention a super soldier husband who tended to run hot. So Tony burrowed against Steve’s bulk and borrowed the constant warmth the serum bestowed on him as one of its mixed gifts—and waited while Steve presumably got his thoughts in order. With his head pillowed on Steve’s chest and one hand resting palm-side down at Steve’s throat, he registered the stalwart march of his pulse.

The heat cycled on again. Their quiet breaths combined with the hiss of warm air rushing through the vents were the only noticeable sounds in the room. Steve’s silence chimed for so long that Tony began to think maybe he wouldn’t answer. The possibility worried him—a little. Ignoring the untidy curl of concern spinning in his stomach, Tony smoothed kisses across Steve’s temple and hairline, one after the other, an affectionate sequence, before relaxing back down against him. “You know, it’s not a trick question,” he eventually added alongside a gentle tug to Steve’s hair, allowing humor to trickle like warm honey into his voice, “I’m not gonna grade you on your answer.” He didn’t need to see the wee furrow cratered between Steve’s eyebrows to know it existed. His mind pictured it with ease; his fingertips confirmed it in the dark. Knowing it would soothe them both, Tony got to work with one hand, deliberately pinching, pressing, rubbing tiny circles into the smooth plot of skin between Steve’s brows and moving up and across his forehead and temples, right up to his hairline.

“No, I never kissed Bucky. But…” Steve lapsed back into silence.

Tony’s hand stilled, a wild thing at rest against Steve’s forehead. “But, sunshine?” he prompted, careful to keep any sense of pressure from his voice.  _No sense in making Steve skittish._ _  
_

There was a long lull that felt not ominous but definitely fraught to Tony. Eventually, Steve answered Tony in something like a whisper: “For a while, he was all I had.”

What he’d said wasn’t much. Steve didn’t have to directly refer to his mother then for Tony to understand she was there, in his thoughts; he grasped that intuitively. At Steve’s words, a pang of emotion went through Tony. Not pity. Less distant and more personal than that. Something like sadness and empathy for the eighteen-year-old young man Steve had been when his mother had succumbed to tuberculosis, leaving him an orphan.

Orphan: such a small, pathetic-sounding word to carry so much weight for them both.

Though Tony’s relationship with his parents had been complicated, he had no difficulty recalling how overwhelmingly alone and unmoored he’d felt when they’d died; he’d been twenty-one—just three years older than Steve had been when he’d lost his mom. Steve had only known his own father through stories his mother told, since he had died during World War I. It was true, certainly, that between Tony and Steve, they had known a great deal of loss; were on rather intimate terms with it.

Steve shifted around a bit, and then his hand thumped down on the bed. “Bucky was good to me,” he added, his voice softening noticeably, “before my ma died and after, too. I could count on him, you know? He always had my back.”

Tony hummed in understanding. “Loyal.” Gratitude filled him, then, for Bucky, on Steve’s behalf. It hurt Tony to imagine Steve, especially a softer, younger, less healthy, less armored Steve, reeling from fresh grief and trying to navigate a world that no longer had his mother in it. Though Tony could no longer remember the sound of his own mother’s voice, he never stopped wishing he could hear it again. Her face, the sweetness that had swiftly shifted over her features, sometimes, when she had glanced at Tony, was never very far from his mind. So he was beyond grateful Steve had had someone; had had Bucky. Tony’d had Obie, and that hadn’t gone so well, had it?

“Yeah, loyal. Funny and handsome, too. Dames loved him. I―” Steve broke off on a deep, shuddering exhale that Tony felt as much as heard. “I did want to kiss him.” His fingers tightened where they were anchored against the skin of Tony’s back. “I think I wanted”―he paused and cleared his throat―”I wanted more than that.”

“I thought you might’ve,” Tony said softly. “Is this the first time you’ve told anyone that?” It would be a major shock to Tony if Steve had discussed this with anyone else before, as private as he was. Steve talked, but with things of this personal a nature, he held them close and concealed, not for just anyone to consume. He was intensely private; Tony understood that about him. Donning Captain America’s uniform and carrying his shield required giving the public pieces of himself. (Pieces that he likely would have kept for himself if he could.) The rest, though, he saved for himself and a select few people, like Tony.

Deliberate and thorough, Tony slid his fingertips across Steve’s forehead, down his nose, along the proud arch of his cheekbones. Theirs wasn’t a giddy, new infatuation; it was love, lived-in, comfortable, and a choice. That didn’t mean Tony didn’t still feel a jagged thrill of pleasure that he got to hold Steve; touch him;  _love_ him.

Steve turned his face into Tony’s hand. “Yes.” He breathed the word into Tony’s palm like a benediction. “I don’t think I’ve talked about it with anyone else.”

“Thanks for being honest. For trusting me.” Tony paused, considering his next words with care.

“Of course, I trust you, Tony,“ Steve said, sounding so sincere and warm it made Tony flush with pleasure and appreciation for the honest, genuine person he’d chosen to love. “You’re it; you’re my safe place.”

“And you’re mine, beautiful,” Tony replied, brushing his lips against Steve’s chin. “You know, just because it never happened for you two doesn’t mean you can’t have it,” he added after several breaths. “In a fantasy, at least. There’s no shame in that.”

Steve made a sound. “Maybe there is a little.”

Tony hooked a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and silenced him with a kiss. “No shame, honey,” he said, pulling back slightly and trying to will Steve to believe it. “There’s nothing we do together―nothing we  _could_ do together―that we should be ashamed of.” He said it into the infinitesimally small space between their mouths, punctuating his words with light taps to Steve’s collar bone. “We’re married; that doesn’t mean I expect to be the last and only person you’ll ever feel an attraction to.”  
  
“I know. It’s just...It’s just that it’s Bucky.” The rest of his thought went unspoken, but knowing Steve as well as he did now, Tony thought he heard it anyway.

“Yeah, and so what?” Tony scratched at his beard, feeling the hair scrape the sensitive pads of his fingers. “Sometimes,” he continued slowly, “you can want someone, and if nothing ever comes of that, there’s a tiny part of you that always wonders, a little wistfully, what you might’ve been like together. And there’s um...I don’t think there’s anything dishonorable in that. Plus, you guys have a complicated history. You were close. Then he died right in front of you. Or at least you thought he did.” Tony shrugged. “Anyway, you blamed yourself because you’re, well, you”—here he flailed his hands a bit before tapping them against the wall of Steve’s chest―"and you’re all noble and shit, and you carry the weight of the universe on your gorgeous shoulders."

“I’m not noble,” Steve protested.

Of course, Steve didn't think he was noble. Big surprise there. “Would you say I know you pretty well? Better than anyone else?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“No ‘buts.’ I’m right about this; you’re wrong. Deal with it, sugarplum.”

“You’re still wrong, Tony.”

“I’m really not. You just can’t handle it when anyone says something nice about you. Which, not my problem. So be quiet.”

“No, you be quiet.”

“What are we―six?”

“Maybe. Yes. What of it?” Tony heard the broad, winky grin in Steve’s voice.  _What a ridiculous man._  
  
“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“ _I’m_ impossible. Do you even know yourself, mister?”

“The insult. The horror. I’m feeling extremely attacked right now. Mortally wounded. You have mortally wounded me. See?” Tony pointed at his own face. “This is my offended face.”

“I can’t see it,” Steve said, deadpan, “it’s too dark in here.”

“Here”―grinning to himself, Tony grasped Steve’s hand and bumped it up against his nose and mouth―"it is.”

“Ah, now I see it,” Steve replied, giving Tony’s cheeks a light squeeze. “It’s a devilishly handsome face.”

“Damn right, it is."  
  
"And so incredibly modest, too," Steve replied, his voice illuminated by a grin.  

"Ha. You are so rude, cupcake,” Tony complained, swatting Steve’s shoulder. “I was trying to tell you something. Something deep and meaningful, and now, look, you’ve gone and wiped it clean out of my head.”

“It’s one of my skills,” Steve shot back, warm and knowing. Faintly amused, too. He dropped a kiss to Tony’s ear and then wandered lower, lips flitting along his jaw and smoothing over his beard, coaxing goosebumps. His hand left Tony’s cheeks and lit on his chin, which he gently tilted. Warm air washed across Tony’s skin as Steve dotted kisses all over his throat―some closed-mouthed, some sharp and nippy with teeth. He laughed; the low, skin-prickling rumble of it had Tony sucking in a breath. “You love to talk,” Steve said. He spoke directly against Tony’s skin, his mouth a stunning combination of soft and wet and warm that threatened to melt Tony’s bones. “Really, really love to talk.”

Tony tried not to squirm as Steve’s nails found his stomach under his shirt and etched crisp, tingling lines across it. “Rude.” He angled his head to the side, shivering as Steve’s lips and tongue played over his skin, and steadfastly ignored how fond and sappy he sounded. He was truly, hopelessly whipped.

“Don’t worry. The words will come back to you. I’m confident of that.” Tony felt Steve grin against his pulse.

“Ahem. They already have,” Tony replied.

“See? Told you they would, sweetheart.”

“We were talking about Bucky. Anyway. I was going to say that eventually, you learned to live with his death and the way it happened. Then he came back, sort of, and there was just all of that”―Tony mimed an explosion―”stuff.”  _So much for eloquence._  He flattened his hand against Steve’s chest and rubbed with his thumb, aiming for comfort and reassurance. “So maybe you disagree,” he said, consciously gentling his voice, “which is fine, I guess, but I certainly don’t think you should feel guilty or ashamed that part of your hindbrain asks, ‘What if?' when it comes to him.”

“You really don’t?” Steve asked, sounding more doubtful than Tony was comfortable with.  
  
Tony felt, sometimes, that he was the more outwardly needy partner in their relationship. Of course, he understood now that relationships were always in flux. Their dynamics shifted and were renegotiated constantly, often so smoothly that neither of them were even consciously aware of it. Still, Steve wanting reassurance from him made Tony feel good. They were independent adults, sure, but being wanted and needed and relied upon by Steve gave Tony a deep sense of satisfaction and comfort. It helped center him. 

“I really don’t. Because it’s just human, Steve, and you might be stronger than most and heal faster than most, but you’re still human.” What they were discussing was a charged topic, and it was important to Tony that Steve understood he didn’t judge him, and he didn’t feel threatened, either. He paused to inhale deeply and exhale, too, before he continued speaking. “You’re allowed to be human―especially with me.” His fingers traced lightly back and forth across Steve’s collar bones, making a circuit. ”I don’t need you to be Captain America; I need you to be Steve. Just Steve. That’s more than enough. That’s...it’s”—Tony’s hands opened and closed as he grasped for the right words—"you’re everything.”

Steve didn’t reply, not verbally, at least. But he pulled Tony into a tight, full-body hug, twining their arms and legs together. It felt like gratitude and affection; it felt like belonging; it felt good―and right―like not much else in Tony’s life ever had.

“Why, do  _you_ think I should be jealous of Barnes?” Tony asked. He left their limbs tangled together but eased his face away from Steve just a little. He wasn’t jealous; he meant what he’d just said. It was human nature to wonder what might have been. Furthermore, Tony had made his peace with his parents’ murder―and with everything that came after that. With time and space, he’d realized he couldn’t blame the man who’d been another of H.Y.D.R.A.’s victims. Clinging to his righteous anger and his pain had hurt Tony far more than releasing them both and finding forgiveness―on his own terms. Of his own volition.

“No. Of course not,” Steve replied without even a trace of hesitation—not that Tony expected anything less than his immediate and emphatic denial. “There’s no reason to be jealous. Not of Bucky and not of anyone else, either. I love you,” he said, “so much.  _You_ , Tony.” His hands framed Tony’s face as they had thousands of times before, intimate and warm, grounding him and offering a bedrock of both safety and passion, and he melded their lips, kissing Tony fiercely―as if that would convince him of his sincerity if his words and the life they’d built together hadn’t already done so. He wet Tony's bottom lip, tugged it into his own mouth, and bit down―dragging a hoarse moan from Tony, stealing his breath and then returning it to him. “You know that, don’t you?” Steve asked, his lips brushing Tony’s. An anxious undercurrent zigzagged through his words.

“Yeah. Course I know," Tony replied, slightly out of breath; he could always rely on Steve to do a job thoroughly, "I love you, too. That’s my point.” He smiled; it was so very like Steve to want to reassure him. Not that Tony minded Steve's efforts to convince him. “So let me give you this, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. He still sounded just a little bit worried.

Sighing, Tony rolled his eyes and silently counted to twenty, willing himself to be patient. He couldn’t fault Steve for repeatedly checking with him that this was, in fact, okay. He was considerate to a fault; his concern for Tony was endearing. “Yes, Steven, I’m sure,” he said mildly. Tony’s feelings genuinely mattered to Steve, and that could never be anything but good.

“Fine then. Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience; Endgame hit me harder than expected, and I had feelings I had to exorcize through other fics. Anyway, here's an update. Consider it a small Mother's Day present, if you want. :)
> 
> I spent a good chunk of yesterday at two separate dance recitals for my kids. That left me feeling ridiculously sentimental and nostalgic. Happy Mother's Day to anyone who's doing the fun and tiring job of mothering, whether you're a bio mom or not. If you're doing the work, I consider you a mama. And hugs and compassion for those whose moms are dead, for those who had tough relationships, and so on.

“You, me, and Bucky, we’re in a bedroom.” Tony got both his hands in Steve’s soft hair, down deep by the roots, and carded through it the way he knew made Steve melt. He dragged against the growth, fingers sliding and pulling through the strands, fashioning it into what would surely be a gorgeous mess if Tony could see it. Even after years together, Tony still found something viscerally satisfying about ruffling Steve’s put-together exterior; about finding the microscopic fault lines in his controlled, contained facade, digging in with his fingers, and widening them into chasms. If that made him a bit of a brat, oh well; Steve didn’t seem to mind. Much.

“Which one?” Steve asked.

“Huh? Which what?”

“Which bedroom are we in?” Steve asked in that patient, matter-of-fact way of his.

Tony clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I just want to know so I can see it better.”

Tony turned his face into his shoulder and snickered. Trust Steve to value precision. “Okay, fine. In here. We’re in our bedroom. Can you see it better?” he asked, mocking without any heat. “Are you happy now, or do your artistic sensibilities need to know which side your hair is parted on, too?”

“I’m always happy when I’m with you,” Steve, the little shit, replied, ignoring the rest of Tony’s sentence.

“You’re an enormous cornball.”

“I’m a multi-faceted person,” Steve replied primly. “Besides, I’ve gotta woo you with words. It’s like they say: happy husband, happy life.”

“Woo me? You _have_ me. Not to mention”—Tony wormed his hand under Steve and grabbed a handful of his ass—“you’re built like a brick house, so…Where do you come up with this shit, anyway?” Tony asked, unable to resist teasing Steve when such a perfect opportunity presented itself. That he loved Steve’s sappy side was a very poorly kept secret.

Of course, Steve, peak human and undoubtedly the love of Tony’s life, had an answer ready for him. “I memorized a book— _Keeping It Sexy: A Guide for the Centenarian_ ,” he replied without any hesitation, “an Amazon recommendation. Photographic memory, you know.”

Steve was trolling him, of course, he was, but. But. A startled laugh fell from Tony’s mouth. “ _Keeping It S_ — _S_ —” And that was it; that’s all Tony got out before he folded over and laughed so hard that tears slid from his eyes. Between the sleep deprivation making Tony punchy and Steve’s pitch-perfect ‘Aw, shucks, golly gee, Mr. Wilson’ delivery, Tony was just _gone_. One hand clutched his aching abs while the other pounded the bed.

While Tony was still caught in the throes of amusement, Steve, ever the tactical genius, worked his advantage and flipped Tony onto his back, caging him between his powerful arms and covering him with his big body. “Steve, you’re…Oh, god, _Keeping It_ ―” Steve blew a noisy raspberry against Tony’s neck, laughing a little himself―why shouldn’t he?―and Tony giggled―manfully, extremely manfully, of course―and wiggled and writhed, trapped between Steve and the bed. “Let me―” Tony started, in between gasps of laughter that seemed to go on forever.

Steve scattered kisses over his face until Tony felt like he was glowing under the attention. “Let you what, hmm?” Steve asked, all fond and indulgent like Tony was his favorite thing in the world. The way he said it, as if the words weren’t only words but also touch, still made Tony shiver with pleasure and stretch like a cat curled in a warm puddle of sunshine. Steve scraped his stubble against Tony’s neck, a pleasant rasp, offering him a brief reprieve before he dipped his head to blow another raspberry there, lips buzzing against Tony’s skin, thereby restarting his frantic wriggling.

“Unhand me, foul beast,” Tony said, cheeks hot, mortified by the definite squeak in his voice. “Ow.” His stomach still hurt from laughing so hard.

“Hmm,” Steve said in a low rumble that made Tony’s pulse quicken, “if I’m the foul beast, then who are you?”

“Duh. The beauty, of course.” Grinning widely, Tony pinched Steve’s bare ass; Steve huffed a quiet laugh that fluttered across Tony’s cheek and jaw and ruffled his hair.

“I certainly can’t argue with that, Tony.” Steve’s voice shifted from droll to almost too sincere. “You are very beautiful.” Hushed reverence and the gentle tracing of Steve’s thumb over Tony’s lips raised another wave of heat on Tony’s cheeks.

Shaking his head, Tony made a small sound of disagreement. “Yeah, uh-uh. That’s definitely you, not me.”

“No, sweetheart, that’s you, inside and out.” Steve dipped his head and ran his nose along Tony’s cheek, pulling a sigh from him.

A tentative but pleased warmth bloomed in Tony’s chest and belly. Steve was sweetness tempered by a huge helping of sass, and Tony knew, everywhere—in his mind; in his heart; in his bones—how incredibly fortunate he was to have him as a partner to navigate life’s puddles and oceans with. Sure, they had to talk out lots of things, but somehow, _somehow_ , without ever having been told, Steve knew how badly Tony needed him to be generous with his affection and appreciation. After they’d forgiven each other, it was there, present in Steve’s words and in his actions and in the way he’d rooted himself in Tony’s life and never left. Tony soaked it all up like parched earth blessed with rain after an interminable drought. If it had taken years of loneliness and empty, dead-end hookups to get to this, to this fullness that was so much better and so much more than mere existence, Tony considered it a fair trade and one he’d make again and again. But his thoughts didn’t filter into his voice when he said, ”Now release me, sexy beast.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” Steve said, playing along as he thumbed the dampness from Tony’s cheeks with his warm, gentle hands. “You can be nice, can’t you?” His fingers curled lightly in Tony’s hair and tugged, sending sensation shimmering up and down the length of Tony’s body.

“Oh, I can be very nice,” Tony shot back, imbuing the words with a wealth of innuendo.

“You’re very beautiful and very bad,” Steve replied. He didn’t sound like he minded. His voice turned over into something slow and voluptuous: “What’s the magic word, bad boy?” He trapped both Tony’s hands above his head and skimmed his lips—oh, god, they were so, so soft—along the sensitive underside of Tony’s forearm. The shivery kiss made Tony squirm helplessly.

Tony tried to pull away, testing Steve’s hold on him. Nope. He wasn’t getting free unless Steve wanted him to. Oh, what fun. He grinned and licked his lips. “Threesome,” he answered promptly, and arched his back and gave a languid roll of his hips so their dicks rubbed against each other.

Steve laughed. “Wrong answer.” His warm, sure fingers squeezed Tony’s. “And they call you a genius. Tsk Tsk.” He nuzzled Tony’s cheek and then dropped a kiss to his forehead. “Try again, Dr. Stark.”

“Oh, _fine_ , spoilsport.” Tony heaved an enormous sigh and raised his head to give Steve’s bottom lip a sharp nip. “Please.”  
  
Immediately, Steve released him and collapsed onto his back, still laughing, but more quietly now. Tony took this as his cue to snuggle close, to mold himself tightly against Steve’s side and drape an arm over his chest, rucking his shirt up high until it stalled at his armpits, so he could access more gorgeous skin and muscle. Tony waited until the final, warm remnants of Steve’s laughter ebbed. He spoke low into Steve’s ear: “Pay attention now, you, and I’ll show you just how nice I can be.”

“That a promise?” Steve asked, and Tony could hear the small, bright smile in his voice.

“Yeah, it is. Now listen.” Tony traced the shell of Steve’s ear with a fingertip and smiled to himself when he heard Steve sigh. “Listen,” he repeated. “Bucky’s looking at you. With those eyes. Those gorgeous blue-grey eyes you’ve spent so many years looking into.”

Tony thought, not very objectively, of course, that Steve’s eyes were much prettier. They glowed with such warmth whenever Steve looked at him. But Barnes’ were still lovely; Tony could admit that. “You had him, some of him, at least, and then you lost him, and then you found him again and…” Tony dragged his hand down the centerline of Steve’s chest, from the base of his throat all the way down to his navel. “All this time, all those years, you’ve been afraid of, of risking what you already have for what might not even be possible. But you’re in the same place right now. He’s looking back at you with what looks a hell of a lot like wonder, just looking, but it’s a moment. You’re having a moment; you’re poised on the edge of something. A decision point. That’s where you’re at. You can jump or you can step back from the edge; the choice hasn’t been made yet. Finally, he says, ‘Stevie.’ One word. Just a name. _His_ name for you, filled with so many things neither of you has ever named. No one else in the world calls you that, and the way he says it, well, it’s a question and an answer and neither, all at once.”

Steve’s low, breathless sound of encouragement spurred Tony on. He wanted this; Tony knew he did. “You step in toward him, and he just watches you move closer until finally, his eyes close. That’s when you curl your fingers around his neck and stroke your thumbs over his jaw.” Tony mirrored his words with his fingers, curving them ‘round Steve’s neck and allowing his thumbs to smooth over Steve’s jaw in a gentle slide. “His breath slips out in warm little puffs of air against your face. You catch my eye over his shoulder; I smile and nod. You wouldn’t be there if you didn’t think I was okay with it, but there’s a tiny part of you that wasn’t completely sure, and—”

Steve interrupted him. “I would never cheat on you. Never,” he said, solemn, and stubborn as a blind mule, and Tony’s body filled nearly to bursting with affection for him.

“I know, sunshine. But now you one hundred percent know it’s okay, and that you’re  _not_ cheating. I don’t think you’re cheating. I only want you to be happy, so if this will make you happy―”

“I am happy, Tony. With you,” Steve said, drawing a sleek line of warmth down the length of Tony’s arm, from shoulder to fingernail.

“Shh.” Tony placed two fingers against Steve’s mouth, smiling faintly when Steve pushed them with the tip of his tongue. “Dork. I know that. Fantasy, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. Please continue.”

“‘Please continue,’ he says, after another fucking interruption.” Tony flicked Steve in the cheek and then rolled his shoulders, settling back into his storyteller role. “You want, god you _want_ ,” Tony said, and deliberately let his voice slide lower; he could still pull out the drama when he wanted to, “and you have wanted for so long.” Tony didn’t have to reach too hard to remember what that felt like―how it felt to look at someone and want them, desperately, to feel that wrenching twist in your gut and know you couldn’t satisfy it. After all, he’d spent years doing exactly that with Steve. It wasn’t difficult to find compassion for someone else who’d experienced that kind of denied desire, especially when that someone was the man Tony loved beyond reason.

“But you, sweetness,” Tony said, voice a touch unsteady as he tried to keep talking past the unexpected knot of feeling that swelled in his throat―where did that come from, anyway?―“you don’t have to want without having anymore.” Tony coughed into his fist to get himself back under control and then sketched lightly over Steve’s shoulder and back up along his neck. One of Steve’s hands came to rest on top of Tony’s in mid-movement, their fingers interlocking smoothly. “Bucky’s eyes open. ‘Punk,’ he says, eyebrow raised just so. He’s daring you to act, you know he is. You can read it in the shit-eating smirk curving his mouth. Well, you’ve never been one to walk away from a challenge.

“So you kiss him.” Steve sighed, such a tiny, melting sound in the warm darkness, easy to miss, but Tony heard it, all the same. It sounded like relief. Like a glass of water when you were unbearably thirsty. “His lips are dry, soft”―Tony tucked the words against Steve’s mouth like a small present―“closed under yours.” A tremor worked through Steve. “The kiss, it’s cool and controlled, but only at first. Then he sets his hands on your hips and pulls you close, so close, and it’s like something”―Tony paused and gestured in the air―“it’s like something breaks open then: in you; in him; between you. Bucky teases your lips open; it takes barely a nudge because you’re totally willing and ready. He’s panting these harsh, hitching, frantic breaths that echo in your ears, and you think maybe you’re going to go crazy before things can even go any further. It’s like...It sounds like he can’t get enough air, and you know that’s because of you. You did that to him. And knowing that,”―here Tony swallowed―“the feeling is, it’s not pride, exactly, but something more. Something...indescribable.”

“Is that what it’s like for you, sweetheart?” Steve brushed Tony’s hair away from his forehead and settled his curved hand around Tony’s face from cheek to jaw.

Tony’s eyes fell shut. “What do you mean?” he asked. He let himself melt into the simple touch. Touching Steve―and being touched by him―was such a sweet pleasure, even if he wasn’t chasing an orgasm. Maybe even more so then.

“What is it like knowing that you’re the one who― That when you kiss me”―Steve clasped Tony’s hand and held it against his chest, over the metronome of his heart―“sometimes you make me feel like I can’t breathe?”

“Oh. Um. Wow.” Impossibly, Tony felt a blush heat his face and then travel down his neck and chest. “Do I? Still?”

“Tony, if you don’t already know the answer to that question, I must be a pretty shitty husband.” Steve was upset—Tony heard the slow beginning of agitation in his voice—and Tony didn’t want that. Not if there wasn’t really any reason for him to be.  
  
“No. No, you aren’t. Steve, no, it’s not that. You’re good. You’re the best. I think―” Tony cut off his own rambling and chewed his lip. What _was_ he actually trying to say? It was super tempting to keep going, to just run his mouth and vomit words out of plain old nervousness, but he wanted to be sure he meant whatever he said next. So he waited; it seemed the thing to do. And who knew? Maybe, sometimes, you could teach an old dog new tricks. “This is going to sound dumb. Really dumb.”

“That’s okay,” Steve said, holding Tony’s hand, “you’re allowed to be less than perfect, too, you know.”

Tony laughed. “Thanks.” He ran his thumb across Steve’s hand. “I think you just caught me off-guard. Like you surprised me when you said that I…” His voice trailed off and his cheeks warmed again. Wow, he was definitely too old for this. Thankfully, it was dark, so Steve couldn’t see the neon flush Tony could feel. Otherwise, he’d never live it down. “You know,” Tony said, and waved his free hand vaguely.

“When I said that you...Oh. _Ohhhhhh_ ,” Steve said, and Tony groaned internally as he witnessed Steve putting the pieces together on his own. Tony hadn’t married an idiot. “I think I get it. Tony, are you trying to say that you felt shy? With me? After all this time?”  
  
Tony hid his burning face with both hands. “Shut up.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Steve said, tugging Tony’s hands away from where they shielded his face. “So if I'm reading this right, you can tell me a dirty story, with the intention of getting me off, no less. But when I tell you that—”

“Nope.” Tony sealed his hand over Steve’s mouth, but Steve peeled it off and kept his fingers circled around Tony’s wrist. “Ah. Shut your mouth. Don’t you say it.”

“—when I tell you that sometimes it takes my breath away when you kiss me, it embarrasses you.”

Tony said something extremely articulate in response—something like, “Gah.”

“Did I break my husband?” Steve asked. “Well, well, well. What do you know? I think I did.” He sounded extremely pleased with himself. “You are just full of surprises.”

"You're laughing at me. I'm an extremely delicate flower, Steven. Stop laughing at me."

"I’m not laughing at you. Sweetheart, I'm laughing _with_ you. There’s a difference."

“See if you ever get laid again, old man,” Tony muttered, sullen.

“Now that’d just be cutting off your nose to spite your face,” Steve replied, still far too amused for Tony’s liking.

“Oh, I’m cutting, babe. Who needs a nose, anyway?”

Steve, the rat bastard, just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Steve and Tony don't listen to me. I'm sorry. All I can promise is that they'll get there. :)
> 
> If you enjoyed this at at all, please leave kudos and comments; they do feed my soul. I reply to all of them unless you ask me not to.
> 
> Other places you can find me: [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/onlymorelove), [Tumblr](https://onlymorelove.tumblr.com), [Dreamwidth](https://only-more-love.dreamwidth.org/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/onlymorelove). I'm on Discord as onlymorelove#8488; you can often find me posting garbage on various Marvel Discord servers.


	3. Chapter 3

After Tony got over being laughed at or with or whatever, he steered things back toward their previous destination. It would, after all, be nice to go back to sleep sometime that century. “He licks into your mouth,” Tony said from his comfortable spot on his side, right next to Steve, one hand tucked against his pillow, under his cheek, “curls his tongue over yours, and you’re kissing with your whole bodies, not just your lips.” His other hand moved over Steve’s chest, carefully avoiding his nipples. “Standing chest to chest with him, you tug that long, dark hair. It was thrown back in a messy ponytail with a few bits slipping out to touch the sharp angles of his face”—Tony paused to rub a strand of Steve’s hair between his fingers; to plot values across the steep rise of Steve’s cheekbone and down along the strong line of his jaw—“you don’t know when you took out his hair tie—or if he’s the one who pulled it out. You’re glad someone did, though. Anyway, the strands glide heavy and soft through your fingers. Cooler at the ends. Bucky lifts the hem of your shirt, and cool air dives underneath, kisses your skin, before his hands slide there, too—one hot skin and the other cool metal—and drag a path from your waist to your back. He scratches you lightly, carefully, just enough for you to feel it, and hell, yes, his nails against your skin feel good. So damn good. The sensation makes you shiver. You wonder: how did you not do this sooner?”

“We didn’t do it sooner,” Steve replied, the faint smoke of a smile curled in his voice, “because I married this short, dark-eyed genius with a dirty mouth.”

Tony struck fast, pinching Steve’s nipple.

“Ouch. Do it again.”

“You should be so lucky.” He gently petted Steve’s other nipple in apology. “Shut the fuck up, Rogers. I know where you live.”

“After all this time, Tony?” Steve said. “I sure hope so.”

“You know what? I’m gonna ignore that. Because I am a mature adult.”

“You are so mature. So funny. So, so smart, too,” Steve said, simpering.

Tony rolled his eyes. He couldn’t see it, but he’d bet good money that Steve was fluttering his lashes at him. “Okay, okay, you don’t need to butter me up more.” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “Quit distracting me so I can finish tonight’s edition of goddamn _Masterpiece Theater_ . I should have been a thespian. The sooner you nut, the sooner we can both sleep.”  
  
“I can’t tell you how unbelievably hot it gets me when you talk like that, sweetheart,” Steve said. “I’m so hard.” That he was, Tony noticed as he rubbed his palm over Steve’s dick. Nope, his erection hadn’t flagged. “I can hardly control myself.” The last was uttered in an almost robotic monotone.

“I can’t believe I woke up for this,” Tony complained, knowing full well that Steve’s super-sensitive hearing would pick it up. “Just drag me through the street, pelt me with rotten fruit, and be done with it.”

“That seems excessive.”

Laughing, he released Steve’s cock and dragged himself up, fisted both his hands in Steve’s hair, and kissed him. The kiss was a little awkward because they were both smiling so widely; it couldn’t be more perfect. “Love you,” he breathed against the soft, amused curve of Steve’s mouth. He loved him; he loved him; he _loved_ him.

“Mmm. Me, too,” Steve said. His hands rose to twine sweetly around Tony’s forearms; his thumbs caressed Tony’s wrists.

With a last brush of his lips against Steve’s and an affectionate nuzzle of his nose, Tony pulled away. Settled on his side again, he said, “Bucky’s shaking; you can feel it, how the tremors travel through the long line of his body and transfer to you through every place you touch. It’s nice, even comforting, somehow, to know that you’re not the only one who’s in this; not the only one who’s burning; overwhelmed; consumed.

“He gets one leg between both of yours and _fuck_ , you’re so hard now you just grind, totally shameless, riding his thigh. You’re so hot for it. The friction, don’t get me wrong, it’s something. But it’s not enough. Your cock’s wet, messy, and sticky at the head. God, you’re leaking, you can tell. You’re still in all your clothes, but you can feel it, anyway.” Tony dropped his hand to Steve’s cock and swept his fingers over the smooth head and dipped just underneath the foreskin. Slick. Wet. Tony sucked his fingers into his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, silk and gravel, “love how sloppy wet you get. It’s the best; you’re the best. So fucking sexy. Baby, you taste amazing. Here”—Tony gently rubbed his fingers against the head of Steve’s dick again, got them damp with pre-come, and then pressed them to Steve’s soft lips until they parted and Steve swirled his tongue over Tony’s fingers with a great deal more enthusiasm than Tony expected, licking and sucking like it was Tony’s cock—“taste yourself.”

In answer, Steve let out a strangled moan that was far sexier than it had any right to be. The sound distracted Tony enough that he had to swallow before he could continue speaking. “You like that?” Tony asked, though the question was completely unnecessary; Steve’s reaction more than spoke for itself.

Steve sighed. “You know I do.” The warm, rough timbre of his voice pulsed up and down Tony’s spine.

“Then say it. I want to hear you,” Tony urged. He flexed his hand, spread it wide against the flat stretch of Steve’s abs and stroked, offering silent encouragement and savoring the soft heat of his friendloverhusband. A smile quirked his mouth when he felt the muscles tremble in response to his touch.

Tinkering in his workshop while Steve read or sketched; watching Steve bend with a near-inhuman grace to line up a shot on a pool table; getting his ass kicked seven ways to Sunday by Steve in the gym—all of the above was fun and Tony would happily do any of them. But skin to skin with Steve, with or without sex, yeah, that was Tony’s favorite. “Come on, sweetness, share with the class,” he said, drizzling a hint of command into his voice. “And then I’ll tell you”—he trailed his hand down over Steve’s stomach, past his cock, to his inner thigh. Slowly, he scraped his nails over the sensitive skin there. Steve’s leg twitched—“more. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say, hmm?” His hand left Steve’s thigh and returned to its previous perch at Steve’s stomach, where it settled, petting in a calm, easy sort of way.

“Fair, yeah. That’s fair,” Steve replied, sounding breathless. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., could you please turn the lights on at ten percent?”

“Certainly, Captain Rogers.”

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tony blinked as the lights gradually came up. As his eyes adjusted, they automatically sought Steve. In the low, intimate glow of the bedroom lights, their gazes met. Despite the story Tony weaved with his words, there was no one in their bedroom but him and Steve.

Steve’s stomach lifted under Tony’s hand as Steve inhaled a deep breath. “I love the way you touch me, Tony,” said Steve, his voice a dark, raspy thing but his eyes clear and steady as he looked back at Tony. “And I love the taste of myself on your fingers.” Steve’s tongue swept his own lips in a clear echo of his statement; that had to be intentional, didn’t it? Didn’t it? The move left Steve’s lips glossy and damp. Dangerous. A sudden twist in Tony’s stomach, and something in him turned molten and shivering. Tony’s other hand clenched involuntarily. When he noticed it, he consciously relaxed it again. “On your skin,” Steve added, his voice tipping lower and rougher still, and Tony almost whimpered, swallowing it at the last second. It was a near thing, though.

He’d planned to help Steve get off. He hadn’t planned on the HD images that currently seduced his mind—images of Steve lost in pleasure, finishing with a hot splatter of come on Tony’s chest and stomach that Steve then cleaned off with the warm, wet flat of his tongue. Images, too: of Steve with his face tucked against Tony’s throat, sipping the salt from his skin, fucking him with long, luxurious thrusts that rocked Tony—rattled the very breath in his lungs—and shook their bed. Of Steve coming inside him. Not once. Not even twice. Three times, at Tony’s desperate urging to _Give me more, Steve. Come on, baby, fill me up_ —until Tony was full, slick, sex-drunk, and beautifully oversensitive. Until Steve pulled out and watched some of his come slip from Tony’s pliant, fucked-out body before he draped Tony’s legs over his shoulders and brought his sweet, soft mouth down to Tony’s hole and licked, while Tony shuddered and sighed under the tender but relentless onslaught.

“Nghhh,” Tony said, with a total and shocking lack of eloquence. “Good boy.” He hadn’t been running, but boy, did he sounded winded. He _was_ , both by Steve’s words and the scorching images they helpfully conjured.

“What were you thinking about just then?” Steve asked, and Tony watched the leisurely movement of Steve’s hand on his cock. “Your pulse kicked up. By a lot.”

Eyelids heavy over his tired eyes, Tony gave a long, slow blink that felt like it lasted for years, and swallowed, too, with a throat gone arid and tight. With great effort, he forced his attention away from Steve’s broad, skilled hand and what it was doing to Steve’s big, pretty cock and back to Steve’s eyes. Eyes that were half-lidded and glimmered faintly in the half-light, hazy with pleasure, but nonetheless focused on Tony. That was how Steve looked when he was turned on. If Tony hadn’t been aroused already—fuzzy-headed and acutely aware of the kindling heat, the sweet, hot ache in his groin—that look would’ve done it for sure.

Steve’s small but knowing smirk made Tony think his current state must be fairly obvious to Steve.

“I’ll tell you. Later, though, or else this story will never be done.”

“You promise?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, baby, I promise.”

“Then by all means, please continue.”

“Under your jeans, you’re sure there’s a wet spot spreading across your boxers. The fact that you’re so obviously needy makes a spark of embarrassment flare hot and bright and red in your cheeks and wash down your neck and your chest. All Bucky needs to do is take off your pants and he’d see it—how ridiculously wet you are. You want it. You want Bucky. Badly. You’re burning up with it, skin stretched too hot and too tight over your bones and muscles. You need him. Kissing him, rubbing your cock against the hard, thick muscle of his thigh, it’s good. This is all good, but damn it, you need more. You open your eyes, just a little, and look up at him through your lashes. Steve, he’s watching you. He’s watching you with this expression on his face―this look like, like he’s a starving man who’s seen food for the first time in weeks or months and not just any food but a banquet. Thick, sweet honey. Dark chocolate. Good, strong wine. Freshly-baked bread that’s still warm to the touch. He fucking wants to eat you alive. You can’t see your own face, but you don’t have to: you’d bet your expression mirrors his.”

“And where are _you_?” Steve asked on a heavy breath that echoed the thud of Tony’s pulse.

“Well, I’m sitting on a chair, watching you, of course. Where else would I be? My pants are unzipped but still on, pulled down just enough that I can spread my legs a touch and get a hand on my dick. I thought I’d observe―just watch, nothing else―but. But best-laid plans and all that. I…I can’t help it; it’s too much, seeing you like this.”

Upon hearing Tony’s words, Steve made a husky little noise, the one Tony loved so very much, the one that slammed him in the heart and the cock, simultaneously, with the force of a nuclear warhead. “Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, “please.” His free hand unerringly found Tony’s dick, hard under his sleep pants, and gave it a firm squeeze. “Don’t you want to?”

Tony bit his lip. “I do, but I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to wait and save it till tomorrow night when I can take care of you the way I should. The way you deserve. You’re going to sit on my face so I can eat you. Gonna lick you soft and open, fuck you messy and loose with my tongue until you’re whimpering, making all those gorgeous little sounds I can never get enough of. And when you need it, when every flick of my tongue against your hole feels like a filthy tease, when you need my cock so bad you’re begging for it, you’re going to lie back and spread yourself open for me so I can see you—see everything—and then I’m going to work my cock into you. Slow. So slow you think you might scream from frustration. That’s why.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, sounding dazed.

“You’re so hot, sunshine,” Tony continued, “kissing Bucky. So unbelievably beautiful. You look like a renaissance painting or something, the way the light catches in your hair. The noises you’re making—so, so sweet. I love seeing you like that, getting what you want. Getting what you need.”

“No, want you―” Steve broke off with a full-voiced groan. “Need you closer,” he said in a quiet rumble.

“Where do you want me?”

“With me, Tony.” He said it matter of fact, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

The words settled over Tony’s shoulders, over his heart, like a warm, plush blanket. “Oh, I’m with you, baby,” he said, a smile coiling in his voice, and sucked a kiss―hot, wet, with a hint of teeth―a small reward for the priceless treasure that was Steve’s loyalty, into the hot, slightly damp skin just under Steve’s jaw. “Always.”

“I want…” Steve’s voice trailed off; his hair swished against fabric as he tossed his head from side to side on his pillow.

“You want…? What? Words, sunshine,” Tony coaxed, “use your words and tell me what you want.” He tapped Steve’s nipples, then gave them each a crisp pinch, making Steve jerk.

“Ah,” Steve moaned, like it had been punched out of it him. It sounded like part pain, part pleasure, all undiluted need, and it echoed inside Tony, thunder reverberating under his skin, in his bones, setting off scalding pinpricks of sensation that coiled at the base of his spine and in his cock. Steve’s free hand, the one he wasn’t using to get off, found Tony’s forearm and dug little dents into the skin. Though Tony couldn’t see them, he felt them. “Please. Want to,” Steve said, slightly slurred. Tony reached down and palmed Steve’s balls, gently lifting them, then moved his fingers behind them and pressed, massaging his perineum with firm pressure. “Uh.” Yes. The movement of Steve’s hand on his cock paused. “Want to be fucked,” Steve got out, chest rising on a gasp, and the way the words were voiced made Tony think it took a monumental effort for Steve to form them. “Please,” he added, elongating the vowel, as he began stroking again.

Between the two of them, Tony had the dirtier mouth. They’d talked about it; it was less that Steve was shy or reticent about sex—because he wasn’t—and more that he was so sensitive that he easily got caught up in and overwhelmed by the sensation and emotion of it all, so much so that raw, indiscriminate sounds came easily while actual language often did not. That’s why when he did talk in bed, the impact was all the greater.

“You’re so good, baby. And kind. You care like―like no one else I know,” Tony said, his voice hoarse and catching on the words.

A small sound of disbelief or hesitation or something of that ilk slipped from Steve.

“What?” Tony skated his nose along the high slant of Steve’s cheekbone. “I don’t want anything from you, cupcake.” Smiling, he wrapped a hand around Steve’s shoulder and dropped a kiss to his warm cheek. “I say it because it’s true.”  

“Thank you, Tony.”

“You’re so, so good.  And so sweet for me. Thank you for telling me what you want,” Tony said, and had the distinct pleasure of feeling a full-body shudder work through Steve at the simple words of praise. God, he was so soft. So easy. Tony meant it, though―the praise wasn’t hollow―and it moved him as much to give it to Steve as it did for Steve to hear it. “You deserve to get what you want. What you want is to be fucked—by Bucky.”

He didn’t intone it as a question; he didn’t need to; he already knew this was what Steve wanted because he fucking knew his husband.

Steve sighed out a single, trembling word: “Yes.”

It had the tenor of a secret, a confession, even, but Tony refused to impose a penance; he didn’t think Steve had sinned.

“You deserve that, Steve. You should have it.” Tony shifted, grazed a kiss over the corner of Steve’s mouth, then centered his mouth over Steve’s and captured the decadent fullness of his lower lip between his teeth. A quiet whine issued from Steve’s throat before he nipped back, always giving as good as he got; it was one of the things that made them work so well together: synergy. “I want you to have everything you want,” Tony murmured, indulgent, ruffling the soft wing of Steve’s eyebrow with his thumb and then smoothing it over. His lips touched Steve’s with every word, sharing air, intimate in a way that would have felt like too much, that Tony would instinctively have wanted to run from, years ago. But not now. Now, the simple contact, the affection, familiarity, and friendship it spoke of, was something Tony relied on—his lodestone—a centering point he would ache for if it vanished.

Given Tony’s age and given the protective effects of the serum in Steve’s body, it seemed more than likely that Tony would be the one to die first. Mortality was never far from Tony’s thoughts. Though he knew it was incredibly selfish, he hoped to go before Steve, and he made no secret of it. He didn’t want to live in a world that no longer had Steve Rogers in it. He wasn’t strong enough, or at least he didn’t want to be strong enough, to survive that.

Steve shook his head, then lifted up and lavished kisses against Tony’s eyelids. “Sweetheart,” he said into the shadows, between kisses, “no one gets everything they want.”

“Fair enough. But this is a fantasy, so whatever. And anyway, if anyone should get everything they want, it’s you.”

“Why’s that?”

_Because you’re good and kind and imperfect; perfectly you. Everything a person should be. My everything._ “Because I said so.” _Mine. You. Are. Mine._

“Oh. Well then. Since Tony Stark said so.”

“Exactly. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.”

Steve laughed, jostling him, but his mirth cut off abruptly as Tony swallowed it, urging Steve’s mouth open with his tongue. He dipped inside and teased, running his tongue along Steve’s teeth. Steve’s hands found Tony’s shoulders and clenched there, locked. They moved together, fluid and knowing, hands, mouths, souls seeking perfect touch and perfect angles; that they didn’t exist lessened the sweetness of the search not one iota. Jointly, they ignited the kiss into something wet and dirty and needful. Their lips clung together when Tony reluctantly pulled away, at last, leaving them both breathing hard.

Tony blinked, trying to dissipate the thick fog of arousal. He cleared his throat, buying himself a few seconds as he scrambled to find his misplaced voice. One of his hands fumbled for one of Steve’s and grasped it. Slowly, he tugged it down and wrapped it back around Steve’s cock. He licked his lips and kept his hand curled over the top of Steve’s and pulled, urging him to get back to work. “When your hand grips Bucky through his pants”―Tony’s hold on Steve’s hand tightened fractionally―“he’s thick, and he’s hard, and you want that in you, stretching you wide and filling you up. You want that so much. You’re so empty and you hate it.” He dragged his chin across the side of Steve’s face, feeding him the rasp of his beard before he continued speaking. “That’s what you both want, so you move toward the bed, ripping off clothes as you go. You can’t be bothered to put them away neatly like we both know you usually would because all you can think is, ‘I need him inside me. I need him so deep I can’t think about or feel anything else.’ You’re desperate for Bucky to fuck you, and that, that eclipses every other thought—every other consideration.”

Beside him, Steve moaned, needy and loud, and Tony could hear the slick sounds of his hand moving over his cock. “I know what I want,” Steve said.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“I want...I want Bucky behind me. Fucking me. And I want...I want your cock in my mouth. At the same time.”  
  
“Jesus.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *collapses* I worked hard on this. Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this at all, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. :) I'll reply—unless you ask me not to. 
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://onlymorelove.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some feelings and smut as I slowly but determinedly hack through my works in progress. 
> 
> I borrowed a line from Lady Antebellum’s “Ocean.” If you spot it, please let me know. :)

Steve had always been a fast learner. Clearly, he’d warmed up to the idea that this was an okay thing to want. 

“It’s like you said—I’m empty. I don’t want to be empty anymore, Tony. I want…” Steve’s soft sigh lit up the darkness; Tony hooked his foot around Steve’s leg and let his heel brush up and down the side of his bare calf, barely nudging the corded muscle there, in a gesture meant to reassure and keep them connected. “I want to be stuffed full of you both. Everywhere,” Steve said, his voice a small, hoarse thing in the muted shadows of their bedroom, and god, what a priceless gift it was to share a life with this man, to be privy to his secrets and his desires. Tony would do almost anything for him. Even after years together, sometimes, like now, it still hit him hard that he got to have all this—all of Steve; the recognition kindled a low, steady warmth in his chest and stomach; made his pulse throb in his cock; created a thick lump of emotion in his throat. “I want to be. Um. I want to be used,” Steve said. The last words ran together in a choked stammer in Steve’s apparent rush to get them out. 

 _Used_. Tony swallowed, blinked, his mouth dry and his throat aching, before he answered. “Yeah? Okay, that’s— Okay, yeah, you can have that. Of course, you can.” What his man wanted, his man should get. By this point, all traces of sleep had fled Tony and flown south for the winter. He was still tired, sure, but he was also wide awake and keenly aware of his own hardness and how it was leaking into his pants, since he’d foregone underwear after his shower. “Just so we’re clear, when you say you want to be used, you mean—”

Steve didn’t allow him to finish his sentence. “I mean I want to suck you off, and I want to be a hole,” he said, “a warm place for Bucky to put his cock.” That was Steve—firm, decisive, and determined once he’d made up his mind. And damned if there wasn’t something sexy as hell about that, too. Tony would bet good money that a bright flush rode the honed slant of Steve’s cheekbones, but the dim light didn’t do his eyesight any favors, so he didn’t have visual confirmation of that, just experience. “It’s nice, sometimes, to not have to think. To just be.” That was definitely something Tony understood—the desire to get out of your own head for a while. 

“A hole,” Tony mouthed, and wiped his hand over his face, incredulous. It was a good thing they were lying in bed because all the talk of Steve being used left Tony feeling more than a tad lightheaded. “Oh, okay.” Tony knuckled his eye before continuing. “Well, that’s that, I guess. You get in bed and stay up on hands and knees, and Bucky follows right after. He taps you on the ass and says in a low growl, ‘Spread ‘em, Stevie.’ It feels like all the blood in your system’s split between your cheeks and your cock, but you do as he asks and hold yourself open for him. You can’t help the way you shiver with arousal and embarrassment, too; it’s a powerful combination; you know you’re completely exposed. The two of you have been through so much together, but Bucky’s never seen you like this, and right now, as he sits silently behind you, he can see everything—your sweet, round, tight ass, how your hole clenches and releases, the weight of your balls hanging down, everything. You’re needy and vulnerable.”

A strangled moan left Steve’s mouth, and Tony grinned, pleased. “You like that, huh?”

“Yes,” Steve answered, though it was hardly necessary; Tony knew exactly how much Steve liked it. That was deliciously obvious.

“Good. But you’re gonna like what happens next even more. Bucky pushes your hands away and replaces them with his own, and you’re helpless to do anything but moan at the difference in sensation between his flesh fingers and palm, which are warm on your ass, and his metal hand, which feels cool against your burning skin. That’s all you feel, though, for at least two minutes, and you’re starting to get a little nervous because you’re wondering what’s coming and why he’s waiting, but you don’t have too long to worry about that and get caught up in your head  because I strip down and join you on the bed. You’ve got Bucky behind you and me in front of you, just like you wanted. I use two fingers to tilt your chin up so you’re looking right at me, and then I rub my cock against your cheek, your chin, and finally, your lips. I’m wet. Not as wet as you, granted, but enough that I paint your lips with my precome. Your tongue darts out to get a taste, but I pull back fast, so all you have is what I’ve left glazed on your gorgeous mouth.”

“Quit teasing me and put it in my mouth.”

“How’d you guess? That’s exactly what you say,” Tony replied with a smile, then moistened his bottom lip. “You need it, huh, my pretty slut?”

“Oh, god,” Steve said, breathless, eyes scrunched tight, and rubbed at his forehead. 

“Too much?” Tony asked, wondering if he’d misjudged Steve’s mood and gone too far. He grazed his calloused fingertips over the planes of Steve’s face, stroking his cheek, his jaw, the proud, stubborn jut of his chin.

Steve’s eyes opened. “No, definitely not. But I changed my mind.”  
  
“Yeah? About what?”

“I’m going to need to get my hands on you now.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“It is,” Steve answered, sounding firm and self-assured, but with that ever-present undertone of kindness. It was...kind of irresistible, and Tony, well, Tony had stopped trying to resist many years ago. “Any objections?”

“Nope.” Tony grinned. “None whatsoever, lover.”  
  
“Good,” Steve said, “now say it again.”

“What? Lover?”

“Yes. I like how it sounds coming out of your mouth. Like a secret no one knows but you and me.” 

“Love me, lover,” said Tony, morphing his words into a purr. Unable to resist, he winked saucily. “What are you waiting for?” He cupped himself through his pants, then ran the side of his hand down the center of Steve’s chest, cruising along his sternum.

“You.” The smile that crested over Steve’s dear face, folding the faintest of lines at the outer corners of his bedroom-blue eyes, was sunlight piercing the chill of a mid-autumn morning, warming Tony from the inside out. More surely, even, than a strong cup of coffee, and for Tony, that was saying a whole lot. “It’s always you,” Steve said.  A tender note vibrated in his voice, and he rolled onto his side in a swift, elegant move that mirrored the easy, seemingly-unconscious grace with which he did nearly everything, and reached for Tony’s pants. Tony would be envious, frankly, if he didn’t admire it so much. Steve’s warm fingers brushed Tony’s belly, sending a frisson of pleasure zinging through his body and making a gasp rattle in Tony’s throat, as Steve gripped the waistband of Tony’s pajama pants and tugged the pants down to his knees, freeing his cock. It pinged against Tony’s stomach, leaving a blurt of wetness there. Despite the warmth of circulated air, Tony had a moment to shiver and feel a rush of goosebumps rise up when the air hit his bare thighs and his cock, but only a moment, and then Steve touched him, and with Steve’s smooth, hot skin moving over his, Tony wasn’t ever cold for long.

“Well, who am I to deny you, you sweet talker?” Tony said, his voice coiled into something  husky and need-filled as Steve removed Tony’s shirt, careful not to yank it over his head. Steve was just thoughtful like that. He laid a hand against Tony’s cheek, his fingers warmly cupped over his ear and against his hair, as he peppered little kisses all over his forehead until Tony hummed a soft acknowledgment and clasped Steve’s forearm and stroked his thumb against it. Steve kneaded the muscles of Tony’s upper back and shoulders, making Tony dig his teeth into his lip, whimper, and arch with sheer, tingling pleasure—he was always so _tight_ up there—before Steve’s hands moved up and forward over Tony’s front. One of his huge hands spread open at Tony’s chest, five distinct lines of warmth directly over his old reactor scars, and Tony ducked his head to stare. From a purely physical standpoint, it didn’t do much for Tony because he had lessened sensation there, but sex with Steve was never purely physical, was it, not the first time and not every time after, either. No, Steve touching or kissing his scars always meant more; was always A Thing TM that left Tony’s skin prickling and his chest tight with the symbolic tenderness of the gesture. Steve’s hand rubbed gentle circles at Tony’s chest and journeyed downward in an unhurried spiral that swept over his belly, making him quiver and suck in a sharp, unsteady breath, teasing the hair there and farther below, not stopping until it enveloped both their cocks. He gave them both one firm, slow pull and then another, easing into it. Steve knew what he was doing; he knew how Tony liked to be touched, so Tony just puffed out a breath through his mouth and relaxed, leaving himself in Steve’s more than competent grip. Steve stroked them in tandem, working them in a smooth, knowing rhythm. Soon enough, Tony was breathing hard and rocking his hips forward, pushing his cock into the perfect curl of Steve’s long, perfect fingers. His skin was hot against Tony’s, and the tug and give of his large hand— _Fuck_ , Tony thought, sensation shivering through his thighs, his calves, and finally his toes, _that felt good_. 

“You were saying?” Steve asked, neatly hooking Tony’s momentarily-wandering attention with his expertly-timed reminder. When Tony chanced a glance at him, he saw that Steve’s eyebrow was angled upward and his lips were quirked in a faint smile.  
  
“Oh, sorry, yeah,” Tony said, feeling a thick wash of heat flood his face, “I guess I got distracted.” Ironic, given his stated intention to help get Steve off expediently. 

  
Steve laughed quietly and drew the side of his thumb back and forth over Tony’s cheekbone until he was melting, a thick, heady languor settling over him. Somehow, Steve had gotten the jump on him; sure he might appear innocent, but he was sneaky like that. He used his angelic face to great effect. “I’m just glad I can still do that to you.”

“You?” Tony asked. “Distract me? Drive me crazy? Always. Trust me: at least in your case, familiarity does not breed contempt.”

Steve’s smile got closer and closer, filling Tony’s line of sight until he could see nothing else. His free hand slipped into the hair at the nape of Tony’s neck and scratched, gently, with the fine edge of his blunt nails—and oh, that always made Tony shudder and arch his back—and Tony’s eyes sealed shut. After that Tony didn’t watch anymore, content to simply curl his hands into Steve’s strong shoulders, into their heat and their bulk, soften his mouth, kiss Steve, and allow himself to fall into how they were together; how Steve’s plush mouth pressed against his; how their tongues slid against each other, and their faces angled effortlessly. There was no battle for dominance. Not here. No battle, period. 

They spent so much of their lives fighting. This, between them, was instead like an elegant, oft-practiced dance; this was peace, and it was simultaneously a pleasure and a relief to sink into it its familiar warmth and comfort, unarmored, without any apprehension or need to be on guard.

This was what you could have when you trusted someone and were trusted in return. If you were lucky. 

“I watch as I ease my cock into your mouth. You open up and stretch around me and you can’t help it—you moan like the slut you are—and you lap at the head, sucking like you’re trying to get the rest of it in you as fast as possible. Fuck, you’re so eager, so hot for it, and the way you flick your tongue against the slit makes me want to shoot right then and there. Just as I push in further, feed you more of my cock—that is what you want, right?”  
  
Because Steve’s face was now buried in Tony’s neck, his warm breath misting his skin, Tony felt it when he groaned. “Yeah, Tony, that’s what I want. Please, please give it to me.”

“Always so impeccably polite, even when you’re begging for my dick,” Tony teased. He felt Steve’s smile bend against his skin before he spoke, and affection welled up in his chest, sun-bright and soft, as Tony gently braced either side of Steve’s face with his hands.

A chuckle pressed against the join of Tony’s neck and shoulder in a huff of warm air. Tony whimpered in response. “A man shouldn’t forget his manners just because he’s in bed,” Steve said, then captured Tony’s earlobe between his teeth and nibbled. At the same time, he cupped his hand around Tony’s balls and gave them a light tug. Steve’s grip shifted slightly, and then his thumb stroked down and up along the seam, coaxing sparks of sensation, of heat and want, his other hand never faltering in its certain glide over both their cocks. 

The intoxicating combination seeped under Tony’s skin, snuck into his brain, stole his mental clarity as if it had never existed. Turned Tony’s thoughts hazy and melting, sweet, mellow gold, thick as syrup. How did Steve do that? Tony was dissolving into softness, sinking into the bed, pleasure wrapping around him. With an immense effort, he searched for the frayed ends of his scattered thoughts and plaited them back together. “You’re precious. Don’t change,” Tony eventually replied, once he could actually speak again. Even then, the sandpaper rasp of his voice gave him away, at odds with his lightly teasing words. “And since you’re so polite...You take me deeper into your throat, like a champ, and when I lean down and curl my fingers around your throat, it’s like I can feel where my cock is filling you up. It’s only ‘cause you’re staring up at me with those beautiful blue eyes that I know the second Bucky puts his mouth on you and licks your ass. Your eyes go wide and you moan, but it’s completely muffled because my dick is heavy on your tongue and in your throat. I can feel the vibrations and how you swallow around me. When I look up, past your head and the endless line of your back, I can see the top of Bucky’s head. Even though I can’t exactly see what he’s doing, I can guess, from the wet, messy sounds he’s making and the noises coming from you, too. I know you like to be licked open. Isn’t that right, sunshine? Don’t you _love_ to be teased with the flat of my tongue, just on the outside, with long, leisurely licks until you’re panting and you’re a little bit soft and a little bit loose, and then have me tongue-fuck you?” Tony’s hands were sweat-damp and hot, and he pushed them into Steve’s hair, mussing the soft strands before he tightened his grip and used it to tilt Steve’s face until they were staring at each other. Tony let his tongue slick a delicate path over his own lips. Watched as Steve’s eyes slammed closed and his Adam’s apple bobbed in a deep swallow. “Don’t you?” he asked with quiet intensity, ghosting his fingertips across the warm, damp, vulnerable hollow of Steve’s throat.

Steve shifted, turning his face away from Tony and into his pillow, stifling a moan there. Tony wasn’t having any of that, though. Using careful fingers, he turned Steve back, keenly aware of the heat that blazed from Steve’s flushed cheek under his touch. “Mm-mm.” He shook his head, then leaned in until first his breath, then his mustache, and finally, his mouth brushed Steve’s ear. ‘Til he flicked the tip of his tongue against it and felt Steve tremble in answer, Steve’s hand unmoving around their cocks but still holding them in a firm grip. “No hiding.” His fingers wrapped loosely around Steve’s throat, registering the endless, heavy thrill of his pulse that vibrated there. “We don’t hide from each other, right?”

The lush sweep of Steve’s lashes fluttered, and he bit down, his teeth a serrated edge on his lower lip, abusing the poor, plump flesh. “You’re right,” he said on a sigh, his gaze meeting Tony’s head-on, and his hand tightened its clasp around them both and started moving again. 

“So, you like my tongue in your ass, who cares?” Tony hitched a shoulder in a cavalier half-shrug. “I mean, I love it, too. I like a lot of things, and so do you. That shouldn’t be a problem. It isn’t.”

“I know. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Tony asked patiently.

“It’s um.” Steve coughed and cleared his throat, leading Tony to wonder what it could be that was making Steve feel self-conscious. “Sometimes it still feels a little scary, being that vulnerable. Knowing you see…” The traces of hesitation Tony felt radiating from Steve only endeared him further to Tony. “Knowing you see everything about me. _Letting_ you see it. Even though you’re my safe place. Sounds dumb, huh, when we’re married, and...?” His voice faded out into silence. A rueful, self-deprecating smile slid over Steve’s face, wispy, fast-moving clouds scudding across the sky in a time-lapse video. His chin tipped down, and the way he glanced up at Tony through his lashes, a hint of bashfulness marking his features with a certain undeniable charm, tiptoed into Tony’s chest and made his beat-up heart knock around more than it should. 

Tony shook his head. “Not dumb, sweetness. Honest.” He felt his mouth twitch on its way to settling into a smile. But that was just the effect Steve perpetually had on him. He was used to it now. Mostly. “Thing about that kind of seeing, though, is it isn’t one way; you see all of me, too.” Warmth stole through Tony, and he laughed softly. Thinking of nothing but how much he loved Steve, Tony caught Steve’s forearm. As he slid his hand up it, Tony felt the slight drag of the hair there. Upon reaching Steve’s hand, Tony captured it with his own and used his hold to trail Steve’s palm slowly down the length of Tony’s face, starting at his forehead, wondering if he felt the lines Tony knew time had etched there, meandering down his nose, over his mouth, where he paused and pressed a kiss to Steve’s palm, and over his bearded chin. Tony didn’t stop until Steve’s hand rested flat over his chest. “There’s a whole lot of crazy in there”—Tony traced steady fingers along the back of Steve’s hand, feeling the network of tendon and bone stitched there beneath the skin—“and lucky for me, you don’t seem to love me any less.”

Predictably, Steve’s brows knit together and his lips edged down in a frown. That was okay because in this case, Tony suspected it was in Tony’s defense and not because of something Tony had done. “I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that. There’s nothing crazy about you except how you make me feel, sweetheart.”

A smile, lazy and slow, kicked up Tony’s mouth. Head canted, he watched Steve watch the movement. “That’s awfully sweet. You get that from your book?” Tony asked, and rubbed his thumb over Steve’s mouth before dipping it inside and getting it wet. 

Looking dazed, Steve blinked several times before he finally flashed Tony a quick smile in return. “No,” he replied. Another unhurried blink. “And I think we should stop talking now.” 

“Why, Mr. Rogers?” Tony’s smile widened playfully. “You don’t like my story?” 

Steve shrugged. “Your story’s fine.” He lifted his hand from Tony’s chest, and Tony let it go without protest. “But it’ll make it hard to focus.”

Intrigued, Tony cocked an eyebrow and angled his chin, shooting Steve a look. “And just what else do you want to focus on?”

“This,” Steve answered, something inscrutable on his face, and he took Tony’s hand and shifted it so that it wrapped around the base of Tony’s cock. “Hold it right there,” he said, then released Tony’s hand and rolled away. He opened their bedside drawer and sifted through it, moving things around and making a fair amount of noise. The drawer snapped shut, and Steve came back to Tony, waving around a small bottle of lube. He squeezed a liberal puddle of it onto his fingers and then spread it all over Tony’s cock, agonizingly slowly, concentrating on the head. When he rubbed gently against the sensitive underside, circling his fingertips over and over, Tony’s hips jerked forward and he moaned. Steve leaned in and joined their mouths in a quick kiss, then moved back again, got more lube onto his fingers, and this time, spread it on his own cock, pulling back the foreskin to ensure everything was nice and slick. With the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration—which Tony had to admit was way cuter than it should be—Steve pushed his foreskin forward again, over his own cockhead, and then, slowly, even further, over the head of Tony’s cock, too, trapping it in an embrace.

Like this, they were connected, joined intimately, the contact an electric shock. This wasn’t something they’d ever done before, and it felt incredible—tight, scalding, the slide smooth in a way Tony had never experienced, given that he was cut. (Steve, on the other hand, wasn’t. _Bless the good old days_ , Tony thought, a bit deliriously.) The sensations were all simply, overwhelmingly _more_. Tony’s breath stuttered as he glanced down and saw how close they were—how they almost looked like one person. “Oh. Oh, fuck, Steve, baby,” Tony breathed out, already starting to shake, and that was before Steve bent, slid his free hand into Tony’s hair, fingers tangling there, clutching as if he was afraid Tony would vanish if he loosened his grip,  and kissed him—kissed him kind, kissed him deep, kissed him slow—kissed him as only Steve Rogers ever could. 

The soft, precious weight of Steve’s mouth moved against Tony’s, gliding across his upper lip like a waking dream, thorough and diligent, with admirable attention to detail—such was his work ethic—then below to his lower lip, leaving no part of his mouth unbranded. All the while, Steve’s hand kept moving over them both, stroking with a pressure that had Tony panting and moaning unashamedly into Steve’s mouth, white light flaring in wide arcs behind the ebony backdrop of his closed eyelids. Carefully, Tony moved his own hand, rolling over the base of his shaft. Working together like that, every stroke pushed Tony’s cockhead against Steve’s, thrusting them ever closer to some great height. The heat, the pleasure streaking through his every cell, built rapidly, with almost unbearable intensity. 

Mouth open and slick, Tony flicked his tongue against Steve’s and greedily swallowed the deep, rich groans that issued from low in Steve’s chest. Tony absorbed them all, Steve’s breath and Steve’s moans and Steve’s obvious enjoyment, then gave them back to Steve reshaped as desperate, choked-off whimpers that couldn’t possibly have come from him. He felt sweat bead on his back and slip down his spine. The warmth and softness of Steve’s tongue contrasted with the blunt line of his teeth, reminding Tony of the unfathomable strength Steve wielded with such skill and such care. Tony’s head was spinning; he was dizzy with it, clinging to whatever part of Steve fell within his grasp, clutching his shoulder, the familiar jut of his hip, his lightly-stubbled cheek, unmoored by how good everything felt. Wave after wave after wave of relentless sensation tumbled over and through Tony, and he could do nothing but allow them to overtake him and hope he wouldn’t get sucked in by the undertow and drown.

Steve wouldn’t let him; Tony knew that. 

Maybe it was just a trick of Tony’s imagination, but he thought he felt the insistent throb of Steve’s heartbeat where their cocks touched. Between the generously-applied lube and the precome that kept sliding from both of them, it was a glorious mess, sticky and wet and pure heaven. Restless and hot, trembling, they thrust together. It was like— It was like Tony felt Steve everywhere, with a white-hot intensity; as if the boundaries that kept them separate, individual people began to dissolve, leaving them as a single exquisite creation. 

“Tony,” Steve gasped out, and Tony’s eyes snapped open to discover the dark, hypnotic glitter of Steve’s gaze fixed on his. “Gonna...I’m gonna…”

Tony stared back at Steve, ensnared by the blazing heat that shimmered in his eyes. “Yes,” Tony said, lungs squeezing tight. “Yes, please, baby, yes,” he begged. He’d never beg for anyone else, never debase himself that way, but this wasn’t just anyone. This was Steve, the only exception, and Tony would willingly give him every piece of himself, secure in the knowledge that Steve would keep the entirety of it safe. With Steve, it wasn’t debasement but sweet freedom—freedom to relinquish control and still, impossibly, find a soft place to land. 

For Tony, the safest hands, it turned out, were Steve’s. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tony managed to get out in a whisper, in spite of the staticky white noise in his head, through lips that felt puffy and oversensitive, beautifully abraded by Steve’s kisses. 

Steve made a sound, small and wounded, and shook his head in a tiny quiver of jagged movement. 

“Hush,” Tony said in a gentle rebuke, shaking his head. “Not how you look,” he added, “though that, too.” Sighing, Tony let himself reach out and twine his fingers through a section of silky hair that had spilled over Steve’s forehead. “Do you still not know?” he asked, as gently as he knew how, rubbing the short locks between his fingers, marveling at their softness. Tony wrapped an arm snugly around Steve’s shoulders and held him closer, rocking him a little. “It’s your heart, silly,” Tony said, nuzzling Steve’s cheek, and he felt Steve shudder. Tony tightened his hold.

 “Your big, beautiful heart.” For all the ways in which Steve was beautiful to Tony, this was the most. 

“It beats for you,” said Steve, his voice lilting with the tone of a secret, and his face tilted toward Tony like a flower seeking sunlight.

Tony smiled. Only Steve could say things like that and manage to sound sincere and earnest instead of just corny. (Okay, a little bit corny. But it was part of his charm.) “I know. So come for me, beautiful. Let go. Trust me; I’ve got you.” Exerting Herculean effort, Tony pulled back a bit but kept his eyes open and took in Steve’s rosy, kiss-stung lips and his eyes that had gone hazy and heavy-lidded with pleasure. “I promise.”

Rose-pink mouth slack and trembling, unfurled like the petals of a flower, Steve skimmed the backs of his knuckles along Tony's cheek in a familiar gesture that somehow softened the racing of Tony’s heart and filled him with a dizzying rush of contentment and affection he didn’t think his puny human body was engineered to contain. Steve’s lips swiftly followed the path of his fingers, and they fastened burning kisses to Tony’s cheek before they brushed his ear and made Tony suck in a stark handful of razor-edged breaths. “Catch me,” Steve whispered, half plea, half command, heavy with longing’s weight, and his hand twisted hot and sure, relentless over the slick place where their bodies were still joined, “please.”

While the blood thrummed thick, hot, and legato in his veins, Tony turned his head, slowly, like he was moving underwater, and let the dark brush-scratch of his short beard ride the planes of Steve’s face. “Always,” he finally whispered back. Tony laid the promise right up against Steve’s parted mouth as he slid his open hand in concentric circles along Steve’s stomach and felt the muscles beneath his warm skin dance under his touch. He was always so sensitive.

Neither Tony nor Steve was truly used to being alone. Once, yes, but not anymore. 

Like this, with Tony’s dick sheathed protectively in Steve’s own warm, smooth foreskin, engulfed by it—and him—they were even more of a unit. Steve surrounded him, shielded him with his bulk and his sturdy, dependable nature and his large, broad hand that stroked them both using a stunning share of focus and care.

With a quiet whimper that trickled over Tony’s skin like warm rain before it lodged inside him, locked just underneath his breastbone, hoarded along with the rest of Tony’s memories of Steve—Tony never tired of being the sole witness to Steve in these moments, when he was a flicker of heartbeats away from fracturing—Steve’s pleasure reached its zenith and he came, his hand still but his cock jerking against Tony’s, and Tony felt every single jolt, every pulse of Steve’s release, experiencing it as keenly as if it were his own. Tony kissed and caressed him through it, his calloused fingers confident but gentle while they strummed the sleek cords of bunched muscle in Steve’s arms and back. He deliberately pitched his voice low, murmuring a litany of hushed words of praise and affection meant to enfold Steve, while he listened to Steve’s panting breaths. Savoring them like the delicacies they were to him. 

Though Steve’s hand had stilled in the onslaught of his orgasm, now it tightened on both of them and started to move once again, rapidly picking up speed, and Tony’s breath caught and stuttered in his throat. They both stroked, working in tandem, better together than apart, Tony inside Steve, and—

In front of him, Steve’s eyes were an ocean, dark, without end, and Tony was splintering, drowning but unafraid.

The waves, the waves, the waves, the waves…

 

When Tony resurfaced, reassembled and whole again, he wasn’t certain how much time had passed. Had he fallen asleep for a few minutes, wrung out from spending too many hours in a row awake, not to mention a spectacularly overwhelming orgasm? Steve lay on his side, facing away. Tony touched his back, and Steve let out a wet-sounding sigh. Blinking, Tony moved until he was close enough to post a kiss to Steve’s warm, bare shoulder. He felt him shudder, and then Steve pulled away, sitting up. “I’ll get us cleaned up,” Steve said, and his voice sounded off, strangely thick in a way that stuck in Tony ears. It made him frown with unease.

“No, you big lug, you’re gonna stay right here and let me cuddle you, and nothing short of another apocalypse is going to get us out of this damn bed for at least five hours. I think I’ve earned a good cuddle, don’t you?”

“But I’m a mess, and so are you,” Steve replied, still sounding not quite normal.

“Who cares? It’s just a little come.”

“A lot of come.”

“Fine. A lot. Luckily, we have a washing machine _and_ a shower. We can get clean in a few hours. For now”—Tony tugged on Steve’s arm until he finally rolled over so they were facing each other—“we’re gonna rub our filth all over each other and then pass out. Because I said so.”

Steve laughed, a little unevenly. “Okay, Tony.”

Tony skated his fingers over Steve’s cheek; they came away damp. “You know how I get when I don’t meet my daily quota of super-soldier snuggles.” His thumb coasted over the soft wing of one of Steve’s eyebrows. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re crying, or are we going to pretend that this isn’t a thing that’s happening?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hmm. Is it really ‘nothing,’ or is it the kind of ‘nothing’ that’s actually a whole hell of a lot of something?”

“I just…” Steve made a low, frustrated sound, then fell silent.

When minutes passed by without him saying anything more, Tony spoke up. “You want to know my favorite thing in the whole world?” he asked. 

“My dick?” Steve answered, with a flash of humor tinting his voice.

“You have a point. Clearly, I didn’t think this through well enough. Okay, _second_ favorite thing?”

“Hmm… I don’t know, Tony. It’s an awfully big world.”

“Your smile.”

“And I’m the sap in this relationship?” Steve said. “Oh, sure, you talk a good game, but I’ve got your number, mister: you’re just a soft, squishy marshmallow.” With that, he gave Tony’s belly a little poke.

“Shhh,” Tony replied, pushing Steve so he shifted onto his back. “I have to keep up appearances,” he added, then tucked his face against Steve’s chest and let out a happy sigh when he felt Steve’s arms come up and fold tight around him.

“I just felt a little sad, is all.” Next, the blankets were tucked cozily around them. “When they pulled me out of the ice, nothing felt real. I didn’t fit in anywhere or belong to anyone or anything besides myself.” Steve breathed quietly, his chest rising and falling with it under Tony, and Tony just hugged him tighter and listened. “Sure, it’s been years since I felt like that, but tonight, when you came, you did it inside me, and I could— I felt _everything_ , Tony, and feeling it, watching you, was incredible. It’s always incredible. But then it hit me—everything’s temporary. You, me, us, our friends…Sooner or later we all go.”

Tony drummed his fingers against Steve’s chest. “Nothing like a little post-orgasmic existential angst, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t mean to be depressing.”

“Shush. You’re not. I’m just teasing, Steve; ‘s what I do.” Smiling softly, Tony slid his fingers through Steve’s and squeezed. “You’re right, everything is temporary. Whatever time we have, I’m gonna spend it with you.”

“See? Nothing but a big old softy,” Steve said, ruffling Tony’s hair and dropping a kiss to the top of his head.

“‘That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.’”

Steve hummed his agreement. “Who said that?” 

“Lady by the name of Emily Dickinson.”

“Smart dame,” Steve replied.

“Yep. She was. Go to sleep, sunshine. I’ll be here in the morning. Or afternoon. Or whatever.”

“Can you promise that?” Steve asked.

Tony considered Steve’s question even as his eyelids drooped and sleep snagged his ankles and laughing, tried to pull him under. “I can promise that if it’s up to me, I will be.”

“I suppose that’ll have to be enough.”

“I’d give you more if I could,” Tony whispered, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s warm chest.

“I know, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed; if not, I wish you luck in finding something else to read that hits the right spot for you. Comments and kudos are always treasured, and I do respond to all comments, though it sometimes takes me a while. 
> 
> If you feel like it, come say hi and/or rec me some fic to read, on [Tumblr](https://onlymorelove.tumblr.com) or Discord; I'm harmless. :) On Discord, I'm onlymorelove#8488.
> 
> Last thing, I promise: I‘m participating in the upcoming [Marvel Trumps Hate charity auction](https://marveltrumpshate.tumblr.com/), which runs from October 19th - 26th. I'll be offering podfic and fic, and so many wonderful creators will be participating as well. 
> 
> Be well, friends.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Thanks for reading. :) I admit it: like many writers, I am needy. So this is me begging you to please, please take pity on a needy writer person and comment if you enjoyed even the tiniest thing about this and have the spoons to let me know that. It doesn’t have to be a long comment to be meaningful to me. Comments and kudos are always appreciated. All comments are treasured, and I do respond to all of them, though it sometimes takes me a while.
> 
> 2) My kids' Spring Break just ended, and I’ve been chipping away at this a tiny bit each day, in between having adventures with them. I have 4,000 more words written. It’s...almost...done.
> 
> 3) I'm watching The Movie That Shall Not Be Named on the night of the 25th; do you want me to post the rest of this fic before then or after? If you have an opinion, please let me know below or shoot me an ask on Tumblr.
> 
> Other places you can find me: [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/onlymorelove), [Tumblr](https://onlymorelove.tumblr.com), [Dreamwidth](https://only-more-love.dreamwidth.org/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/onlymorelove). I'm on Discord as onlymorelove#8488; you can often find me posting garbage on various Marvel Discord servers.


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